The Rithmatist

connection between Rithmatics and the Monarchical Church. No man gained Rithmatic powers without first agreeing to be incepted. They didn’t have to stay faithful—in fact, they didn’t even have to profess belief. They simply had to agree to be incepted, thereby taking the first step toward salvation.
    Muslims called Rithmatics blasphemy. Other Christian churches grudgingly accepted the necessity of the ceremony, but then disputed that it proved the Monarchical Church’s authority. The JoSeun people ignored the religious side of the experience, remaining Buddhist despite their inceptions.
    However, no man could deny that without the Monarchical Church, there would be no Rithmatics. That simple fact allowed the church—once on the brink of extinction—to eventually become the most powerful in the world. Would the church stand up for the Rithmatists if the public tried to bring them down?
    Joel’s mother sat next to him, listening devoutly to the sermon. She and Joel had spent the previous day moving back down into the workroom. It hadn’t taken very long; they didn’t own much. Every time Joel stepped into the workroom, though, he felt as if he were eight years too old and about two feet too tall.
    Something poked Joel in the back of the neck. He started, then turned around, surprised to find Melody sitting on the bench behind him. She’d been on the other side of the building when he’d last seen her.
    “He’s almost done,” she hissed. “You going to ask him, or should I?”
    Joel shrugged noncommittally.
    A few moments later, she slid onto the bench beside him. “What’s up with you?” she asked quietly. “I thought this was everything you ever wanted.”
    “It is,” he whispered.
    “You don’t sound like it. You’ve been dragging your feet ever since I told you my plan! You act like you don’t want to be incepted.”
    “I do, I just…” How could he explain? “It’s stupid, Melody, but I’m worried. For so long, I’ve defined myself by the fact that I missed the opportunity to become a Rithmatist. Don’t you see? If this works, but I’m still not chosen, I won’t have that to fall back on anymore.”
    Joel had studied, learning the patterns and defenses, following in the footsteps of his father. But all the while, he’d been able to feel secure in the knowledge that he wasn’t a failure or a reject. He’d simply missed his chance, and for a good reason.
    Joel hadn’t destroyed his father’s hopes for a Rithmatist child. Joel couldn’t be blamed if he hadn’t had an opportunity, could he?
    “You’re right, that is silly,” Melody said.
    “I’ll go through with it,” Joel replied. “I just … It makes me feel sick. That’s all.”
    Logically, he saw problems in that reasoning. One couldn’t be “blamed” for not being a Rithmatist. Still, logic didn’t always change the way a person felt. He’d almost rather be left with the possibility that he could have been a Rithmatist than find out for certain.
    Melody’s insistence that he try again dug up all of the old fears.
    Father Stewart finished his preaching. Joel bowed his head for the ritual prayer. He didn’t hear much of what Stewart said. By the time the “amen” was spoken, however, he’d made up his mind. If there was a chance for him to become a Rithmatist, he was not going to lose it. Not again.
    He shoved down his nervousness and stood up.
    “Joel?” his mother asked.
    “Just a second, Mom,” he said. “I want to talk to the vicar.” He rushed away, Melody quickly joining him.
    “I will do it,” Joel said. “You don’t need to.”
    “Excellent,” Melody said, for once not wearing her school uniform. Instead, she wore a white dress that was quite fetching. It came down to her knees, showing off quite a bit of leg.
    Focus, Joel thought. “I still don’t think this will work.”
    “Don’t be so pessimistic,” she said, eyes twinkling. “I’ve got a few tricks planned.”
    Oh dear, Joel thought.
    They arrived at the front of the nave and stopped before Father Stewart. The vicar glanced at them, adjusting his spectacles, the miter on his head waggling. The large headdress was yellow—like his robes—and was marked with a nine-point circle circumscribing a cross.
    “Yes, children?” Father Stewart asked, leaning forward. He was growing quite old, Joel realized, and his white beard came almost all the way down to his waist.
    “I…” Joel faltered momentarily. “Father, do you